My Early Story (3)

 

A Little Church in NW D.C. - PART TWO

 

As I mentioned, the pastor of this little church was Walter Veasel. Walter and his wife had, I think, three children and lived on the other side of Baltimore. He was a schoolteacher. As an adult reflecting back on Walter, I wonder how he managed to be a husband, a father, a schoolteacher, and pastor a church that was easily over an hour from home - probably 1 1/2 hours. It's hard to imagine that Walter was in the ministry for himself. It must have been hard for Mrs. Veasel and the kids too - all that traveling, no other children in the church, long Sundays.

 

Years later I met Walter in Baltimore. He had since assumed the pastorate of a church in the Baltimore area whose meeting house had been destroyed by a hurricane - and thanks to insurance and Federal disaster aid a brand-new facility had been constructed - I was happy for Walter.

 

I wasn't at the little church in N.W. D.C. for very long, for after my conversion tension between my dad and I was such that I moved back to my mom's in Maryland and I attended a sister church in Silver Spring. But for the time I was at the little church the people did the best they could and I'll always be thankful for that and be thankful for those long trips Walter Veasel made every Wednesday night and every Sunday to serve a little congregation that could give him nothing material in return for his long hours of travel, ministry, and preparation.

 

I've seen others like Walter in my life. Men and women who do things that don't make material or temporal sense. Men and women who do things for which there is no apparent "return on their investment". I'm reminded of the woman who poured out precious ointment on the feet of Jesus, it didn't make sense to the disciples, they termed it a waste.

 

Who knows where I might be if not for Walter? Suppose he hadn't been there and there had been no church? Of course we don't know the answers to questions like that, but we do know that God put Walter there, and that Walter was there when I came, and that he drove me home that first Wednesday night. I don't recall a thing that Walter said - but I remember that Pastor Walter Veasel was there - and I think that says a lot.

My Early Story - (2)

 

A Little Church in NW D.C. - PART ONE

 

Howard Wall's church was in Seat Pleasant, MD, too far for me to travel. I did visit Howard one weekend and attended his church, which was Southern Baptist - some of my best friends are Southern Baptist, no kidding. They had a visiting preacher that Sunday and his message was from Matthew 23. I recall Howard commenting about the fact the preacher used the RVS, which meant nothing to me at the time.

 

I visited the local Presbyterian Church in Georgetown by going to speak to an associate pastor. He gave me a booklet which explained the church year, church symbols, vestments, and the like. I'd only been reading the Bible for a few weeks, but when I realized that he didn't know where the Lord's Prayer was, and I did, well that sealed the deal - I thought the Lord's Prayer was probably more important than vestments and symbols.

 

I visited a Baptist Church in Georgetown, it was a communion Sunday. The folks were gracious and invited me to take communion - I guess that was my first communion come to think of it. They were all elderly, which was neither here or there to me in terms of age, but it was all rather subdued.

 

There was a cashier at the Food Mart who invited me to her church. I first went on a Wednesday night. I must have taken the bus, or maybe I rode with her, I can't remember. After the prayer meeting the pastor, Walter Veasel, drove me to the apartment I shared with my Dad on Wisconsin Ave. I returned on Sunday.

 

It was a little church, and other than the pastor's children I was the only one under 30, and I'm not sure there were many under 40. I guess there weren't more than 40 people on a good Sunday. They were old time Pentecostal - of course I didn't know what being Pentecostal meant anymore than I would have known what being a Seventh Day Adventist meant. I knew about the Washington Senators and NY Yankees, and I knew who in my old neighborhood were Baptists, Presbyterians, Catholics, and Methodists, and I knew that my classmate Donny Rothenberg was Jewish, but beyond that Pentecostals were like a hockey team to me - I'd never seen ice hockey and didn't know the rules.

 

The excitement was great on Sundays, the exuberance intoxicating, and the praying...well I'd never heard praying like that - not that I'd ever heard much praying. The people were serious about religion. More importantly, they welcomed me as best they knew how.

 

I often think back to that little church when I read the latest and greatest ways to reach youth. That church didn't have a youth program. It didn't have good music. It didn't have anyone my age. But those people welcomed me as best they knew how and I came back. We make things too complicated.

My Early Story

Good morning,

I have hurt my hand and can't really type, so I am going to revisit my early story which I first shared over 15 years ago. I hope it will encourage you to reflect on your own story.

Love,

Bob

Howard Wall

 

You wouldn't be reading this if it were not for Howard Wall (speaking in the natural). Of course you would not be reading this if it were not for a number of other people as well, but I'm going to begin with Howard.

 

When I was in the 10th grade and attending Western High School in Washington, D.C. I worked at the Food Mart,  a grocery store at 31st & M streets in Georgetown. I worked after school and on Saturday, stocking shelves, bagging groceries, and carrying orders home for folks who lived in walking distance from the store.

 

It was early 1966 when Howard came on board as our new produce manager. He was around 5'8", thin, with coal black hair slicked back, and heavy rimed black glasses with thick lenses. Howard was a Native American.

 

I took my breaks in the area where Howard prepped his produce, for that was also the area in which our cases of dry goods were stored in preparation for stocking. I'd sit on a box, eat my snack, read the paper, and chat with Howard, who was probably around 50 years old.

 

(I recall the first time I tried yogurt during one of my breaks. I couldn't understand why anyone would eat the stuff - it was so bitter! Then I discovered that the fruit was on the bottom.)

 

I don't recall Howard and I talking about anything in particular during those early days of getting acquainted. He wasn't a sports fan, which I was, so that wasn't a common interest. I guess we just talked - maybe about heads of lettuce or radishes or maybe even kumquats. Have you ever had a conversation about kumquats?

 

What I do distinctly remember is finishing my break one day and getting ready to go through the stainless-steel double doors that separated the back of the store from the public area when Howard asked me a question: "Bob, are you a Christian?"

 

"Sure," I replied. After all I was an American, I had been christened in the Presbyterian Church, therefore I was a Christian. That makes sense to you, doesn't it?

 

Howard's question, however, led me to begin reading the Bible and asking Howard questions. He loaned me some books to read, among them Billy Graham's World Aflame, nothing like a little drama to get one's attention.

 

What strikes me as I reflect back to Howard is that he was never pushy - he was, as we say today, relational. And get this, he was significantly older than me and he was relational. I wonder where we get the thinking that older folks and younger folks can't relate? He was interested in me and so he could talk with me and listen to me - not rocket science is it?

 

I wonder what the timing of Howard's question looked like on his end? Why did he decide to pop the question at that particular time? Had he been thinking about it for a while? Had he started to ask the question at other times only to draw back at the last moment?

 

Howard and I both left the Food Mart later that year. Howard moved to Colorado and I lost track of him. I left because I didn't feel my initiative was appreciated. But during our remaining time together Howard and I talked about Jesus and during the weeks following Howard's question I came to know Jesus.

 

I don't know if the Food Mart is still at 31st and M streets, but I do know that one day I'll catch up with Howard and thank him for asking me the most important question anyone could ever ask, and I'll thank him for being my friend.